


What's There Within

by saxophonic



Category: B.A.P
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff, Gen, Pre-lawsuit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-08 19:06:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7769572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saxophonic/pseuds/saxophonic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yongguk and Junhong reflect together in a trailer during the 1004 MV filming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's There Within

**Author's Note:**

  * For [butwordsareallineed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/butwordsareallineed/gifts).



> Thank you to my lovely beta for helping me clean this up! All remaining errors are my own.

Yongguk tosses more dirt over his shoulder, though his efforts don’t render the hole deeper in any significant way. Staff have the new song blasting from speakers to remind him of the song, as if he wasn’t involved with almost every step leading to its creation. Still, it’s a nice touch.

“Cut!” shouts the director from behind the camera, and the song shuts off. Yongguk drives the business end of the shovel into the ground. He isn’t really sweating, but he wipes the back of his hand across his forehead anyway. “Let’s wrap it up for today. I think we got our shot.” The director waves him over to review the tape on the monitors.

Staff run over to help Yongguk out of the ditch they made hours earlier, making sure he’s on his way to the director before recovering the shovel. A quick, light jog later and Yongguk’s watching his performance on the screen with the director. He watches himself with a critical eye, pointing out an elbow thrown too far, or a scowl not deep enough. “Can we do one more shot, just to get it perfect?” Yongguk asks, but the director shakes their head.

“No,” the director says. “It’s too late for that. This is as good as it’s going to get. Remember, you have another shoot in a few hours, and you’ll need to be fresh.” The director claps him on the shoulder. “Get some rest in the trailer. We’ll wake you when we’re ready.”

Sighing, Yongguk lets the director call staff over to escort him away. She runs over with a bottle of water in one hand and a box of heavy-duty makeup-removing towelettes in the other. He reaches for the bottle, uncapping it for a couple gulps. Despite the lukewarm temperature, the water helps refresh him. And although he isn’t tired, he goes along with her anyway, walking away from the noisy set and to the relative peace and quiet of the trailer. It’s late but mobile floodlights keep the area lit up in artificial bluish-hued light. Yongguk wonders how bizarre this area must look from a distance and drains the rest of the water bottle.

Probably no less bizarre than when they built a spaceship wreck next to the busy overpass, back during that first hellishly busy year of debut. There are always stranger things.

Another TS Entertainment employee meets them outside the trailer. “I’m sorry,” he says, looking between them. “He won’t leave.”

“Is the fan back?” asks the employee. “Call for security again.” She takes the trash from Yongguk’s hands and pushes the box of wipes in its place.

But the man shakes his head, and Yongguk steps forward to open the trailer door, brow furrowed.

Inside the trailer, Junhong sits on the tiny couch, arms looped around one leg drawn up to his chest. His other long leg rests on the corner of the low coffee table in front of him. He looks up from his phone upon Yongguk’s arrival, excited for a moment before ducking his head. “Hi, hyung,” he says.

Yongguk watches him for a moment, then sighs. He turns to the TS employees. “It’s fine,” he says. “Junhong-ah can stay here. I’ll make sure he gets some rest.”

“But—”

“Whatever, just make sure you wipe your makeup off before you sleep,” says the staff who escorted him. He nods in promise and closes the door to the trailer.

Junhong looks up at him from the couch with a smile.

“Why didn’t you go back to sleep with the others?” Yongguk asks. 

“I didn’t want to,” Junhong says. Yongguk sighs. He looks at the box of wipes in his hand and wishes he had another water bottle instead. He still feels a bit off, tongue covered in the sticky film he gets when he’s dehydrated. “I wanted to be here,” Junhong adds. Opening the box, Yongguk pulls out a wipe and starts rubbing it over his face. “I didn’t want you to feel lonely.”

Yongguk briefly pinches the bridge of his nose through the towelette. “That’s kind of you, Junhong, but a real bed is more restful.”

“I know.”

“There’s no convincing you otherwise, huh?” Yongguk asks. He’s almost finished taking off the makeup and ready to collapse on the uncomfortable couch, though he should probably be more thorough. 

Junhong grins. “Nope. The staff already tried.” With a sigh, Yongguk tosses the wipe in the trash, only to pull out another and pick his way toward the tiny desk vanity in the corner. “I’m nervous, hyung,” Junhong says as Yongguk sits in front of the vanity. Yongguk dabs at the corner of his eye in an attempt to remove a stubborn smear of black eyeliner.

“You are?” Yongguk hisses when some of the cleaner gets in his eye. He blinks fast to try to clear it. “We’ve done this dozens of times. What about this comeback has you nervous?”

“Well,” Junhong starts and trails off. Yongguk lets him think. In the meantime, he wipes contour off the underside of his jaw. Junhong plays with his phone quietly until Yongguk’s finished and sitting beside him on the couch. “I guess it isn’t this comeback, not really. Though I guess I am nervous about our dance, and if the fans will like it.” Junhong locks his phone and sets it on the low table.

Yongguk hums. “The dance you and Jongup-ah choreographed.”

“Yeah.”

“Of course they’ll like it,” Yongguk says, nodding. He knows how popular Junhong is with the fans. Boyish charm is hard to resist, after all, especially in this business. Yongguk looks at Junhong, watching the maknae fidget with his colorful, striped toe socks. Junhong picks at the edges and runs his fingers between his toes, wiggling them. He turns to grin at Yongguk, and Yongguk amends his previous thought. Boyish charm is a blessing and a curse.

With his hopeful smile, Junhong says, “You really think so?” and Yongguk nods. “Thanks, hyung.”

Never having been one to fill the air with conversation, Yongguk allows the lull to wash over them. He doesn’t mind the silence, unlike some of the others. Himchan and Daehyun seem to find silence to be uncomfortable, even at night. He’s heard them both talk in their sleep on separate occasions. Youngjae can handle silence better, but he still warbles in the shower. Yongguk shifts on the couch, stretching out his legs, and thinks about how Jongup is probably most like him where chatter is concerned.

Out of all of them, Yongguk guesses Junhong is the most flexible. Loud or quiet, talking or silent, he works. Yongguk smiles and nods to himself. Junhong’s a good kid with a bright future. His mouth twitches, paternal-like anxiety twisting in his chest. If only this industry, this company, doesn’t rob Junhong of that, too.

“What are you thinking about, hyung?”

Heaving a sigh, Yongguk shrugs. “Not much, Junhong-ah.”

Junhong stares him down in mischievous disbelief. Yongguk does his best to hold fast, but it’s hard to resist Junhong when he really wants something, especially information. Yongguk wonders if Junhong knows about the soft spot Yongguk has for him. Himchan certainly does.

“Hyung.”

Yongguk crumbles.

“It’s the company, Junhong. All this...shifty business has me uneasy,” Yongguk admits.

But Junhong’s brow furrows. “Shifty business?”

“The calculations that determine our pay don’t seem right.” Yongguk frowns. Was all their work these past two years really so futile? “Why is it so hard for our company to produce one clear statement?” He isn’t in it for the money. Not really, he tells himself. But after a few post-show dehydration scares, after that jam-packed first year of ceaseless comeback promotions, after one jam-packed world tour and another in the works, there has to be something to show for it. Or something clear to explain why they’re still coming up so short.

He thought TS would be different. Now, he’s not so sure.

Before his mind wanders down a mental corridor of dreams, each room a charity donation he hasn’t been able to realize, Junhong’s hand shakes his knee and brings him back to the present. “Hyung,” Junhong says. “They won’t be able to deny all of us. And we’ll show them how much we’re worth with this comeback.”

“You think so?”

Junhong nods.

“You’re a good kid, Junhong-ah,” Yongguk says. Junhong perks up and smiles, and Yongguk adds gently, “I hope you’re right.” He resettles on the couch, shifting his weight and trying to find a more comfortable position. Junhong ignores his efforts and sprawls lengthwise over him, pillowing his head in Yongguk’s lap. “What are you doing?”

“They told me to sleep,” Junhong says. “So did you.” He shifts again, long legs stretching out over the arm of the tiny sofa. “I’m compromising.”

Yongguk snorts. He takes advantage of the change in topic to further steer it away from the anxiety-inducing nebulous questions around the missing financial statements. “What are you filming tomorrow?” Yongguk cards his long fingers through Junhong’s hair out of habit. His hair isn’t soft, not with the amount of bleaching and dyeing in its recent past, but it’s a comforting gesture.

Junhong’s hesitance to respond allows Yongguk to fill in the gaps. “At the carousel?”

Rolling over in a small fit of embarrassment, Junhong mumbles, “Yes.” Yongguk does his best to suppress a chuckle. “Nahyun-ssi makes me nervous.”

“All girls make you nervous, Junhong.”

“Not the cartoon ones!” Junhong says, quick to defend himself. “Or the ones related to me.”

Pursing his lips, Yongguk tries to mentally parse out the situation in a logical way. How do Himchan and their beloved Manager Kang fill this kind of role so well, so frequently?

For reasons beyond his comprehension, Yongguk remembers an interview they gave when they were just Bang and Zelo. “I made you nervous, once, and now we’re friends.”

“Good friends,” Junhong amends for him, rolling back over to face the ceiling.“And yeah, of course you did. You were so cool.”

Looking down at Junhong, Yongguk cocks an eyebrow. “Were?”

Junhong offers a conciliatory smile. “You still are, hyung.”

“Whatever.” Yongguk shakes his head. “I don’t know. You don’t actually have to get her to like you, you just pretend that you already do.”

Quiet. Then, “What’s the difference?”

Yongguk sighs. “I don’t know. Look, maybe just pretend she’s your cousin or something.”

“Okay, but hyung, what if they make me kiss her?” Junhong groans. “This is the worst thing to ever happen to me.”

Laughter defies Yongguk’s suppression and bursts out in a few snorts. “You spend too much time with Youngjae and Daehyun.” Junhong does not find Yongguk’s observation as entertaining as he does, but he cracks a smile anyway. “I know you’re nervous, but you’ll get through it.” The smile retreats so Yongguk tries another approach. “Just listen to the director and you’ll be fine. This is way less dangerous than filming with live flames, or dancing on a partly-destroyed car, or anything else we’ve done.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Junhong says. He tries to hide a yawn, but Yongguk can tell his exhaustion is getting the better of him.

“No more talking until staff come wake us up,” Yongguk says. Junhong nods, and Yongguk reaches to turn off the light. The darkness lends another layer of stillness to the fragile silence.

It lasts half an hour at most before someone raps their knuckles against the trailer door. “Wake up and come out!” The door opens, letting light stream into the trailer. “We’re filming again in ten minutes.”

Yongguk’s legs are asleep, and he prods Junhong until he awakens with a groan. “I need to get up, Junhong-ah.” The staff left the trailer door slightly ajar, artificial light pouring through the sliver.

Sitting up, Junhong stretches and almost knocks Yongguk square in the face. “Watch it.”

“Sorry, hyung.”

After a small bit of reshuffling, Yongguk realizes Junhong hasn’t lain down again. Yongguk sighs. “Do you want to come watch me film or will you go back to sleep for me?”

Junhong pauses, still registering the question. “I want to watch,” he decides finally.

“Hurry up,” Yongguk says before he steps outside the trailer and into the grey-blue light of predawn. Or what would be grey-blue predawn if it wasn’t for the set lights. He notices the staff person who woke them jogging away from the trailer, presumably off to fetch something before Yongguk’s call time. Nearby is the camera crew for the behind-the-scenes shots, and to Yongguk’s relief, Junhong climbs out of the trailer just in time to help fill reeltime. Despite the lack of restful sleep, the day feels easier to handle with someone he can trust by his side.


End file.
